Seasons
by Lena Inverse
Summary: Wolfram and Greta parental bonding, oneshot. Wolfram comes to find that being a parent changes one's perspective dramatically.


Seasons

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is the property of creator Tomo Takabayashi and licensor Geneon Entertainment, Inc.

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Spring is never Spring unless it comes too soon. -GK Chesterton

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Wolfram always looked forward to the Spring Festival. Since he was young, Wolfram could remember counting down the days and months until the festival, until it was somewhat of an annual ritual for him. This was not because he enjoyed the festival, particularly, but because it meant that he was another year older, and therefore that much more an adult.

Technically, of course, he'd been an adult since the day he had turned sixteen. He had found himself expecting, after that long-awaited birthday, that everyone would treat him differently – that he would finally be seen as something other than the spoiled Third Son of the Queen. But, strangely, life went on just as it always had, and everyone at Court, his mother and brothers included, continued to treat him like a child. This infuriated Wolfram to no end, but his repeated assertions that he should be treated more like his brothers were constantly met with a wry grin or a patronizing chuckle, or a humiliating comment about how absolutely _adorable_ he was.

Wolfram couldn't wait to grow up.

Even now, at eighty-three years old, Wolfram still occasionally found himself wishing that time would pass more quickly, for with each passing day he was that much closer to his goal. That much closer to being his own man.

This year, though, Wolfram had another reason to look forward to the Festival. This was Greta's first Spring Festival, and she couldn't possibly have been any more excited. She had spent hours locked away with Wolfram's mother, busy selecting the perfect dress for the Princess to wear for her first appearance at one of Shin Makoku's annual events. She'd finally settled on a simple white sundress, and, when Greta emerged from her bedroom and announced that she was ready to go, Wolfram told her that she had never looked more lovely.

The visiting nobility and guests thought so, too, and didn't hesitate to say so as they gathered around Greta, eager to get a glimpse of the Princess. Wolfram smiled softly, taking pride in his daughter's shy but polite smile as she blushed girlishly at the attention, the occasional giggle emanating from her lips. When one of the Lords declared Greta to be an angel who walked among them, Wolfram couldn't help but chuckle in silent agreement.

The festival was crowded as always, with much the same games and decorations, and many of the same vendors that came year after year to sell their wares. But somehow hearing Greta's enthusiastic descriptions of the flower-adorned signs and her cheerful applause at the costumed performers made everything seem new and exciting. Wolfram found himself admiring Greta's ability to find joy in such small things. Such was the nature of youth, to be able to see the world with innocent eyes.

Wolfram wondered if he had ever felt that way, or whether he had been in such a rush to get his youth over with that he hadn't bothered to try.

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It was a waste of time and energy, Wolfram had always thought, to get overly excited about minor things. There were always important matters that needed attending to, and it would hardly be productive to occupy all of one's time with self-indulgent antics. And besides, it was really rather juvenile behavior, and could influence others to perceive him as a child, which he was most certainly not. Wolfram much preferred to celebrate his successes with a measure of decorum, lest he become so caught up in minor victories as to lose sight of the larger goal.

He utilized much the same tactics when instructing. Wolfram's soldiers were always trying to pat each other on the back over merely accomplishing what was expected, and, frankly, Wolfram found it aggravating. Lessons should be practiced and mastered, and then one should move onto the next. It was that simple.

Wolfram had much the same thoughts about the riding lessons he had been giving Greta since she had been adopted. A Princess should be taught to ride properly, and Wolfram was by far the best candidate to be her riding instructor. She kept her balance well enough, but had constant trouble being able to remain sedately seated at any pace faster than a slow trot. No matter how much Wolfram instructed Greta, each time her pony went into a canter, Greta would bounce around in the saddle in a manner completely unfitting for royalty.

Although Wolfram had never once lost his temper, Greta was easily discouraged by her lack of improvement. Each lesson ended with Greta giving Wolfram a dispirited half-smile, and asking whether she was through for the day.

One summer morning, though, Greta dug her heels in and gave her mount a soft kick, driving her into a slow canter. After two or three initial bounces, Greta squeezed her legs around her pony and held on, at long last able to keep herself seated in her saddle. It was far from perfect, but Greta was nothing short of thrilled with her performance.

"Daddy Wolfram did you see? I did it!" she exclaimed proudly as she dismounted and ran up to Wolfram, giving him a wide smile.

Wolfram nodded approvingly. "Yes, you certainly did. You were wonderful, Greta."

Then Greta launched herself into Wolfram's arms, laughing in delight at her new accomplishment, and Wolfram found himself smiling right along with her. Her happiness and pride was all it took to make him forget that such a celebration over something so ordinary could possibly be seen as rather childish.

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Wolfram hadn't ever had much use for reflecting upon the past, or for anticipating the future. The past was to be remembered, but not dwelled upon at length – Wolfram thought about his past often enough, but much preferred to take action rather than brood about it. As for contemplating the future…he left that to the Priestesses and Shine Maidens. The future was impossible to predict, so Wolfram considered planning for things that might or might not occur to be a waste of his time. He much preferred to live in the moment, and so he rarely took much time to ponder such things.

Which is why it shocked Wolfram when, one crisp autumn day as they sat together in the library, Greta asked him what might have happened to her had she not come to live in Shin Makoku.

"Well, Greta," he began contemplatively, trying to ascertain her purpose for such a question, "I honestly don't know. But you're such a strong girl, I'm certain that you would have been just fine."

Greta gave a slight frown, considering Wolfram's statement. "But I was so sad back then. I had happy times with Hube, but when he wasn't there I was all alone."

Wolfram nodded, unsure of what to say to be of comfort. Greta rarely spoke of her past, and Wolfram had never felt it necessary to hold such a discussion.

"Sometimes," Greta said, her voice nearly a whisper, "I wonder what will happen. If I'll ever have to be alone again."

"Never," Wolfram replied, his voice strong and sure despite the sudden heaviness he felt. "You'll never be alone or sad again, Greta. I promise."

"I know," Greta said, giving Wolfram a soft but genuine smile. "I was sad sometimes, but if all that stuff hadn't happened, I might not have been able to live here. So, I'm glad that it happened, because now I can be here with all of you." Greta then jumped up from her seat, gave Wolfram a quick peck on the cheek, and skipped off down the hall, all smiles once again.

Wolfram stared after her, both impressed and stunned. Perhaps, there were some benefits to reflecting on the past, after all…particularly if it made a sweet little girl, who had experienced such immense loses in her short life, feel hopeful about her future.

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Waiting was among one of Wolfram's least favorite activities. He knew that waiting was sometimes a necessary evil, but that didn't make him like it any bit more. He couldn't think of a single thing that he'd prefer to wait for rather than have immediately, and he had become quite sick of being advised to 'be patient.' Why should he be patient, when something he needed or wanted was eluding him? Nothing frustrated Wolfram more than waiting, and he tended to avoid it whenever possible.

Wolfram had to admit that, as he called to Greta for the third time, telling her that it was time to return to the castle, he was a bit annoyed that she kept stalling. He could understand her love of ice skating, but it was far too cold and snowy outside to be standing about for hours on end. He might have been able to use fire magic, but keeping himself warm, and doing so without igniting his clothing, was not among his abilities.

"Oh, all right. Here I come," Greta called back. Wolfram turned to gather their things, preparing himself for the short ride back. A sharp cracking sound and an abbreviated scream was all it took to have Wolfram drop his collection of items and send him running, sliding across the frozen lake to the spot where Greta had fallen through the thin ice.

Wolfram didn't know which seemed longer, the ride back to the castle with Greta huddled in his arms, or the night spent at her bedside as she struggled with a fever. Gisela had said that Greta would be fine, and that all Wolfram could do was to wait for her to wake up. In asking that of him, Wolfram thought that Gisela might as well have been asking him to lift a horse over his head – both were impossible. He had been certain that having to sit there, helpless and powerless, incapable of doing a single thing to help his daughter, would surely be the death of him.

It wasn't until morning that Greta stirred, her eyes fluttering open and squinting at the sunbeams that fell upon her face. "Daddy?" she asked, her voice thick and groggy.

"Yes, Greta. I'm right here." Wolfram reached over to brush his fingers against her forehead, which thankfully seemed somewhat cooler now.

"Have you been here all the time?" Greta asked.

"All night." Wolfram held his daughter's hand as her eyelids began drooping again, her body clearly in need of more sleep. "And I'll still be here when you wake up again."

"I'm sorry I slept for so long," Greta murmured, well on her way to falling asleep once again. After a short moment, her eyes fell shut and she drifted off, her breathing falling into a steady rhythm.

"It's okay," Wolfram said softly, smiling through his tears. "I don't mind waiting."

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It was time for the Spring Festival again. Oddly enough, though, Wolfram hadn't really given much thought to the upcoming occasion until it was practically upon them, busy as he was with everything.

This year, Greta wore blue. She had spent the two previous weeks going back and forth between the blue dress and the white one with pink flowers, but had decided on the blue because she wore white last year. Wolfram was astonished that she could remember something so insignificant about something that had taken place a year ago.

The dress wasn't the only thing Greta remembered – she went on endlessly about the homemade treats and the hanging floral garlands and the costumed performers from last year. She led Wolfram through the decorative streets, pointing out familiar games and new vendor stands, every bit as excited as she was the previous year.

And, just like last year, Greta was the center of attention amongst all the nobles and guests. They gathered around her and Wolfram as they walked down the crowded street, and Greta stopped to greet them with a formal curtsy each time, gracefully allowing herself to be fawned over like the adorable little girl that she was.

"Greta, you've grown so much," said one of the passing nobles as he gave Greta a pat on the head. "What a beautiful little Princess you have become!"

Wolfram stared at the man for a moment, and then blinked and slowly focused his gaze on his daughter, who was beaming with delight at the compliment. Wolfram noticed how the giggling and blushing Greta had displayed last year were replaced by her somewhat more subdued, yet equally endearing, smile. And then, he was reminded of how the smile she wore last year had shone upon a slightly rounder face, which had been framed by auburn hair that curled just beneath her ears, rather than flowing to her shoulders as it did today.

Wolfram wondered why he hadn't noticed those changes before.

"Daddy Wolfram," Greta said, looking up at him with bright eyes that were just a hint more almond-shaped than the year prior, "they remembered me from last year! They remembered my name and everything!"

"Well, of course," Wolfram said, reaching down to hold his daughter's hand in his, "how could anyone forget such a beautiful face?" Greta smiled again, giving Wolfram the most loving and charming smile he had ever seen.

"Princess!" called a vendor from his nearby pastry stand, "would you like a dumpling? They're the best in Shin Makoku!"

"Sure!" Greta called back as she started to walk toward the lovely smelling kiosk. She was stopped short, though, as she realized that Wolfram still had a hold of her hand.

"Daddy Wolfram," she said in a fond and strangely patient voice, "you have to let go." And with that, she slipped her hand out of Wolfram's and hurried off toward the vendor.

Wolfram watched his precious daughter walk through the crowd and take the offered treat with a humble "thank you" and a gracious curtsy. Greta had changed so much in the short year since the last Spring Festival – and she would grow and change just as much between this Spring and the next. A year meant little for him, only a small fraction of his life. But for Greta, that same year meant so many changes, from her appearance to her mannerisms to her perspective about the world. With every passing year…she would grow up even more. That realization filled him with an unfamiliar emotion, the mixture of pride and wistfulness that he imagined only a parent looking at their child could feel.

After that, Wolfram found that Spring always came too soon.

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Notes: Thanks for reading! I hope I can be able to contribute at least a little bit to this community that I adore so much! The themes of the seasons – innocence for Spring, exuberance for summer, reverence for Autumn, and perseverance for Winter – are from a quote by Yoko Ono that I can't seem to remember verbatim.


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